Pendragon (25 page)

Thomas, who dearly loved the old man, wanted at that moment to shoot him. He was back in the White Room in not more than forty seconds. Meggie was sitting up, leaning against a pillow, smiling at him. He nearly shouted he was so relieved.

Dr. Pritchart, seeing that His Lordship just might leap on his bride he was so thankful, moved to block him, saying, “I have told her to remain in bed the rest of the day. We will see tomorrow how her head feels.”

Meggie jumped when more thunder rolled overhead. Rain slashed hard against the windows. “I'm all right, Thomas. Don't be frightened.”

But he was. After he'd shown Dr. Pritchart out, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. He pressed his face into her hair. He kissed her temple, said low and deep into her ear, “You scared every ounce of wickedness out of me. I will become more reverent than your father. He will be so impressed with me he will ask me to give one of his sermons.”

She turned her head slightly, moving very slowly, and kissed his neck. “I should like to see you in my father's pulpit. Please don't lose all the wickedness, Thomas. I do like it. I can't bear this either. Don't leave me, please don't.”

He closed his eyes as he held her, kissed her hair, the tip of her nose, felt the softness of her through her muslin gown. “Let me get you into your nightgown.”

27

M
EGGIE WATCHED MISS
Crittenden run to the end of the long kitchen, come to an almost instant stop, then wheel about and race back toward her.

“By all that's wonderful,” Meggie said in awe to Mrs. Black, “that was amazing.”

“Demned Cat's been acting like that since the big tom, McGuffy, went to sea with the Midland's youngest boy, Davey,” Mrs. Black said, narrowing her eyes to better see Miss Crittenden flashing by, but it didn't help much, and Meggie saw that it didn't. “Running everywhere to find him, but he's no where to be found. And now it's just habit with her.”

“So she started all this marvelous running trying to find Davey. Hmmm. Maybe you've hit upon a new training technique. Mrs. Black, have you asked Dr. Pritchart about glasses?” she asked.

“Oh aye, my lady. Dr. Pritchart has tried everything. He says it's the cataracts that are like veils over my eyes, that they will just thicken and thicken until there won't even be shadows. He calls it white eyes.”

“I'm very sorry.”

“It's just that I would like to see Miss Crittenden race about Cook's jugs of flour and sugar. Many the times I've nearly tripped over her. So many changes you're bringing, my lady, and all of them exciting. Do you know I can
smell how clean Pendragon is now? It's a blessed thing, it is. Now, why are you interested in Miss Crittenden and how she runs?”

“Have you ever heard of cat racing?”

Cook came into the huge kitchen and said, “Cat racing? Now, that's a loony thing, it is.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Mullins,” Meggie said, and since neither of them had heard of such a thing, for the next ten minutes, Meggie told them about the history of cat racing, begun at the Mountvale Mews in the last century, brought to its premiere place in the racing world by the Harker brothers, the major trainers for two decades now. “The McCaulty Racetrack is the major venue for cat racing,” she said. “The meets are held from April to October. Mr. Cork is the current champion. He from the Vicarage Mews and I trained him.”

“You really trained a cat to race?” Barnacle said, dragging himself into the kitchen, and one eyebrow arched up so high he looked like a bit of a demon, in agony, of course.

“I most certainly did. I think Miss Crittenden just might take to the sport. What do you think? Cat racing at Pendragon?”

“Oh, aye, that would be something, now wouldn't it?” Mrs. Black beamed.

Cook harrumphed. “It's loony, now isn't it?”

“There's nothing like seeing those sleek bodies flying by,” Meggie said. “It makes your heart gallop.”

“Meggie.”

She turned to see Thomas striding into the kitchen. He was carrying a package under his arm. “Here you are.” He didn't sound at all surprised. During the past week, once he'd let her out of bed, she'd been everywhere in Pendragon, overseeing everything and everyone, and that pleased him all the way to his gut.

“Oh, my lord,” Barnacle said and creaked into a semblance of a bow, adding a little moan as he straightened, his face a hideous mask of pain. “Mrs. Black, it's his lordship.”

Mrs. Black, instantly flustered that the master was in the kitchen, of all places, curtsied and knocked a teacup off the table.

“No harm done,” Meggie said as she snagged the falling cup out of the air, and added to her husband, “Miss Crittenden just might be a racing cat. What do you think?”

Thomas looked over at the large calico, sitting in a slice of sunlight in a corner of the kitchen bathing herself. “She's huge.”

“Well, I think most of it is muscle. I just watched her run. She's amazing, Thomas. She will lean down a bit during training.”

“Cat races at Pendragon. Let me think about that, Meggie.” He handed her the package. “This is from your family.”

“Oh my,” Meggie said, clutched the package to her bosom, and nearly ran from the kitchen.

“But I want to see what's in that package!” Barnacle yelled from behind her.

She just laughed and ran all the way to the White Room, Thomas on her heels.

“I took it out of the wooden packing box,” Thomas said, standing against the wall watching her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You feel all right, Meggie?”

“I'm all right,” she said, not looking up from the paper she was tearing. “Really, no headache at all now. Oh goodness, my father must have sent this right after we left. What could it be? I just realized, he didn't know where we were going, did he?”

“Well, yes, naturally I told him. I didn't want him or your stepmother to worry.”

“But you wouldn't tell me anything.”

“No, that's the way it's done.”

She pulled away the last bit of paper and lifted out a beautifully carved wooden cat. It was a perfect likeness of Mr. Cork, even the size. There was a plaque at the bottom with Mr. Cork's name, his sire and dam, and the dates of his racing wins beautifully etched into the wood.

Meggie held it close, then burst into tears.

“Meggie! What's wrong? It's a statue of Mr. Cork. It's a very nice statue, but tears? What is this?”

“I miss him so much, and Cleopatra, too. All the cats, Thomas, they would run and jump, meow their heads off, or sit there and tell you, without words, that they weren't going to move a paw, no matter what you did.”

“I think,” he said slowly, watching her dance around the room clutching the wooden Mr. Cork to her chest, “that just maybe we should introduce cat racing to Pendragon. Did your father carve this exquisite piece?”

“No, Jeremy.”

“I see,” he said and wanted to howl. Couldn't the mangy bastard just leave her alone?

After Thomas left her to go downstairs to see Paddy, Meggie was humming as she dusted off Mr. Cork's fine statue. Suddenly she stopped cold. At least an hour had passed since she'd thought about the person who'd slammed whatever it had been down on her head. Just the thought of it now brought a flash of pain. Even when Thomas had mentioned it, she'd been too excited about her present and hadn't heeded it.

She winced, walked slowly to the window, and looked at the breezy spring day. It was cloudy, but at least right now it wasn't raining.

She picked up her father's letter and read it through again. “My dearest girl, Jeremy sent this wedding present to me since he didn't know where you would be. I am enclosing his letter.”

Meggie didn't want to read Jeremy's letter, she really didn't, but nonetheless, now that Thomas was gone and she was alone, she slowly unfolded the single sheet of paper, pressed it out with her palm, and read, “Dear Almost Cousin Meggie, I wish you and your new husband the very best. Charlotte and I would welcome a visit from you. I hope you enjoy this rendition of Mr. Cork. It took me a while to carve it which is why it was late.” And it was signed just Jeremy. His direction was written on a separate piece of foolscap. Jeremy.
Jeremy and Charlotte
.
She walked slowly to the fireplace and stood there, staring at the three stacked logs, bits of paper stuffed around them. She shredded the letter and tossed the pieces in amongst the kindling. Then she lit the fire and watched it burn. She heard Alvy moving about behind her, but didn't move.

“Dr. Pritchart is here to see you, my lady.”

She frowned, not realizing at first why he would come to Pendragon. Oh, her head. She turned and smiled at Alvy. “I will see him shortly in the drawing room. Please let Barnacle know, Alvy.”

Ten minutes later Meggie, Thomas beside her, greeted Dr. Pritchart, who was sipping at a cup of Cook's tea and scratching his ear.

“There is a rash on your ear, Dr. Pritchart,” Meggie said, walking to him. “Is it all right?”

He paused and looked at her, for a very long time, didn't say anything, just looked. “You'll do,” he said, snapped the cup into its saucer, and gave her a brief bow. He said to Thomas, “If she suffers a relapse, you will call me. Good day to you both. The rash comes twice a year, one of those times is right now, in April. It's nothing at all.” And he was gone.

“Well,” Meggie said. “I wonder how much his bill will be for that visit.”

“He thinks you're fine. That's all I wanted to know. He's had that rash twice a year since for as long as I can remember.” He crossed to her, pulled her against him, and kissed her.

Meggie was nothing loathe and kissed him back. She said into his mouth, “This is so much nicer than those dreadful things you did to me on our wedding night.” She pulled back and looked up into his face. “I know, you don't want to talk about it.”

“No,” he said against her ear, then stroked his thumb along her jawline. His hands were on her hips when there was a clearing voice from the doorway. Thomas slowly raised his head. “Damnation.”

He turned to see his mother standing there, and she didn't look at all happy.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Lord Kipper has decided to take Libby for a ride in his curricle. He told her he had a very lovely spot to show her and that she would truly appreciate it, especially since it wasn't raining. He told her how much he admired her. I told her he was lying, that he didn't like women with as much flesh as she has. He was just going to drive her to this nice spot and bed her on a blanket just because there was no one else about for the moment, no one with less flesh than she has. She was merely a temporary convenience, I told her, surely she realized that. She called me horrid nasty names and slammed out of the castle. It was unforgivable. I'm thinking of having her live elsewhere.”

Thomas stared at his mother, then laughed.

Meggie, fascinated, said, “What did she call you, ma'am?”

“She had the absolute gall to call me a pernicious old tart. Can you imagine?”

“Well, no, I can't,” Meggie said.

“Imagine calling me a tart. I never slept with any man other than your father and Lord Kipper, and who wouldn't bed him if they had a chance? He was beautiful twenty years ago and he's beautiful today, and ever so talented. I'll wager that little wife of yours would take him to her bed in an instant if he crooked his finger at her.”

“Niles enjoys life too much to try that, Mother.”

“You would shoot him if your wife here were unfaithful to you?”

“In an instant.”

“And what, may I ask, would be her punishment?”

“Since this will never happen, then I really don't have to think of one, do I?”

“I saw her looking at Lord Kipper, Thomas, just like Miss Crittenden looked at that bit of sea bass Cook served for dinner before you arrived.”

Thomas just smiled, but there was something in his
eyes, something dark and hidden from her. Meggie frowned.

“I didn't realize Libby knew such a deadly word as
pernicious
,” he said.

Madeleine said, “I didn't either.
Pernicious
. I am here to look it up in that dictionary on your desk. I hope I have the spelling right. I ask you, what good is a dictionary if you don't already now how to spell the word? Stand aside.”

Thomas took Meggie's hand and led her from the estate room. They were half a dozen steps beyond the room when they heard his mother squawk.

“Let's hurry,” Thomas said.

“Thank you, Thomas.”

He turned to smile down at her. “For what? Dragging you out of the room before she found
pernicious
?”

“For telling your mother that I wouldn't ever betray you.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, turning away from her to look out over the Irish Sea, “I did say that, didn't I?”

 

That night a storm blew in, rain slammed hard against the windows, and the black of the night was absolute.

“Oh God, Meggie,” he said against her mouth, felt the world tilt and every muscle in his body scream, and managed to pull out of her just in time. He hung over her, panting, so beyond himself, that for many moments it was very close.

“Thomas? What's wrong?”

“You weren't with me,” he said, low and harsh, and gave her his mouth.

When she arched her back and yelled to the ceiling, he came into her again, hard, deep and deeper still, and harder than he should have, but he just couldn't help himself.

Some time later Thomas was lying on his back, his breathing slow and calm now, his wife's breath warm against his bare chest. Suddenly he felt her jerk, and tightened his arm around her.

“Meggie,” he said against her hair, kissing her. “You're dreaming. Come, wake up.”

She moaned quietly, pressing closer to him, and her breath was hot against his flesh, wheezing in and out. Something bad was happening. She sucked in a deep breath, shuddered. He started to shake her awake when she moaned,
“Jeremy, no, no. Blessed Hell, no. Jeremy.”

He didn't shake her. He didn't do anything for a very long time, just let her thrash about and moan, deep in her throat.